


Hannibal's soft spot

by Roselyn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Blood Kink, F/M, Knifeplay, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselyn/pseuds/Roselyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal talks, or tells things in his journal. Whatever the case is, what he shares is very intimate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hannibal's soft spot

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for possible mistakes; I have no beta.

I met her today at 4:50pm. Her name’s Penelope. She’s my patient. Her height is about 5’5. Her hair’s black and reaches down just below her shoulders.  
Her eyes are dark brown; almost black. She’s nineteen.

She came to me again on Friday at 3:15pm. She spoke more openly this time. I found out about her past; she was raped when she was twelve.  
Today she spoke to me about the issues she had had with her father. He hasn’t spoken to her since her mother’s death. '  
That’s why she moved to live on her own at the age of sixteen.

She never smiles and she speaks with flat tones. She appears to be broken. I’m not sure if her life’s worth living for.

Our next session was on Tuesday at 7:50pm. I had given the late time for her on purpose, because I was going to kill her.  
That’s correct; I was going to kill her and eat her. This is all confidential. Actually I would not have even liked to tell this, but I feel I must.  
Sometimes things take so unexpected turns I even come to surprise myself, like that time after our session with Penelope:

I had arranged the session different this time; in a form of a dinner. My excuse was that dining in company would relax her and she would speak more openly.  
I found out that she’s a vegetarian.  
After we had finished our meal, I told her what I was going to do to her. She stood between the table and me; I was holding a knife.  
There was nothing she could do to run, so she tried to bargain her way out of it by sex.  
I approached her slowly, closing the distance between her and myself. Her hands were shaking as she tried to open her blouse. I stopped her, telling there was no need for it; she would die anyway. She sobbed loudly, reaching for my belt, still unwilling to accept her faith. My knees nearly gave in as she found my soft spot, her fingers brushing over it by accident. I never knew I had a soft spot.

 

No, it’s not what I meant. I am a man and I can be stimulated in the same manner as any other, but this was different. The soft spot I was talking about was on my lower stomach, a little bit on the right. As she touched it, I got more aroused than ever before in my life. I couldn’t help myself, which is rare. I lifter her on the table and had her, perhaps more forcefully than I had intended.

 

Yes, I’m aware that she’s my patient and it should have never happened.

 

When I had finished she looked at me in silence. I looked back at her, reaching for a knife. Now more than ever, I had a reason to kill her. She stopped me, touching my soft spot again, whispering out that there would be more, if I allowed her to live. I fear I was a fool to let her leave.

 

She didn’t come to our next session, which didn’t surprise me. She came to me later that night instead. She didn’t speak a word as she knocked to my door, but I let her in, and followed her into the kitchen. She took one of my knives and approached me. Oddly enough I did nothing to stop her.  
She threatened my life, but I didn’t feel the need to take the knife away from her. I didn’t believe she could kill me, so I allowed her closer, risking an injury, at the very least. Or perhaps I was curious; I wanted to know what she was going to do.  
She stopped right before me and I was able to feel the tip of the blade against my belly. Her eyes were moist as she looked up to me. I gently grabbed her knife holding hand into mine, still feeling rather peaceful, considering the situation.  
“No, the other side,” I told her, feeling how she slid the tip over my abdomen, just above the waistline of my trousers. _So sharp. . ._

She stopped over my soft spot and I could have sworn she looked a little pleased, as I flinched.  
“Just the tip, otherwise you’ll kill me,” I told, tightening my grip on her hand. I saw it best to guide her, incase she’d get too excited. I felt the blade sink into my tender flesh and as I made sure she pulled it out, I was panting slightly. The wound was not a bad one, nothing more serious than a small cut on a finger.  
I watched her to watch how blood slowly started spread from the cut, dyeing the white linen of my shirt.  
“Look at what you’ve done,” I told her. Even though my voice had been most calm, she looked suddenly scared; the knife dropped on the floor from her shaking hands, as she rushed to press her hand on the wound.

I was powerless under her touch and stumbled backwards from the kitchen, till I reached the couch. She followed me the whole time, making sure her hand never left my body. I’d be lying, if I’d claim I wasn’t aroused as she pushed me to lie down, crawling on top of me. She looked down at me, a pained expression on her face, as she started to open my waistcoat. She undid the buttons of my shirt next, moving slowly down from my collar. Gently, she pulled the hem of my shirt out from my trousers, exposing me; exposing what she had done to me. For a moment I expected her to remove my trousers as well. Perhaps I even hoped it.  
But I was wrong.

She circled the wound with her fingertips, causing me to shiver. I had almost started to wait she’d press one of her fingers in the wound, in order to cause me pain, but she leaned closer instead, pressing a gentle kiss on my stomach.  
I leaned my head back in euphoria, as I felt her tongue to run over the cut. The pleasure was overwhelming, nearly forcing me to spasm in my ardor.  
That girl, the one who had refused to eat meat, was feeding from me. And I fed her with eagerness. She made me to feel like a god; I was the one who had made her to break her boundaries. I wished to reach for her, to sink my fingers into her soft shiny hair, but I didn’t dare to.  
She wasn’t ready for my touch yet and I didn’t wish to scare her away.

 

I am aware that I am not a god. I was referring to the fact she accepted my blood, which could be compared to eating meat.

 

I panted heavily as she pulled away moments later, licking her lips. She looked at me under her brow, almost shyly.  
I looked back at her, making sure she saw both of my hands; the one that was resting on the back of the couch and the other, lightly squeezing the pillow behind my head. I raised my hips a little, giving her a sign that she was free to continue, if she liked. It was my sincerest wish, as at this point I was throbbing so badly with need it had become nearly painful.

I took a rasping hiss of breath as she leaned back in, cupping my aching bulge through the fabric of my trousers.  
It might be needless to tell, but I fear I must; that I answered eagerly to her touch, pushing my hips up to get a better contact with her hand.  
She finished me with three strokes, leaving me sweaty and short of breath. As she shifted to stand up I asked her to stay, but she only shook her head, slipping out from the door quickly as a cat. Perhaps I saw her as a cat, figuratively speaking. But I must admit there had been certain gracefulness in her movements.

I inspected my wound later in the shower. It had bled more than I had anticipated, but I chose it didn’t require any stitches; a dressing would be enough.  
If someone ever saw the scar, I would tell them I had been in a surgery.

I realized I had misjudged the need of stitches, as I sat with Will Graham on his session the following day. The edge of my belt pressed the wound uncomfortably, causing it to bleed under the dressing. But even then I couldn’t ignore the pain as a reminder of the pleasure I had experienced on that night with Penelope.  
Soon I realized, I wasn’t squirming only in discomfort, but also in arousal.

\---

Penelope surprised me, by coming to my door late on that eve; especially when no session had been booked for her on that specific day. I had expected her to return to me, waited her to return to me; only I had not been sure when. She slipped in as she had done before, walking straight into my arms. I believe she had become to trust me, during the unexpected events that had happened between us. I also knew there was something she wanted from me, so I didn’t fear she would go to the police.

 

I’m speaking about violating her in the way I had; I had not killed her, so no crime had been committed on that behalf by only planning it and informing her with it.

 

Her hand felt warm against my belly as she gently guided me to lean on the desk. I embraced the feeling, holding my breath till she found my soft spot again, slipping her fingers under my shirt. I breathed out with pleasure, starting to feel the tightness in my trousers. I wished to lay with her again, but I knew rushing her could be damaging. I would allow her to continue experimenting on me, so no further trauma would be caused. Perhaps this was the way for her to heal the old one; a rather different form of therapy.

 

I’m not talking about sleeping with her, but what she had done to me. I believe it was a safe way for her to explore her newly found sexuality. And it would be, as long as I wouldn’t touch her again. I believe I might have even triggered this effect, by forcing myself on her earlier.  
No, I am not proud of about what I had done, but for my own comfort I can tell she didn’t resist. I might also add that observing the progress of this effect fascinated me. She had made me, curious about herself. . .

 

She opened a few buttons of my shirt, mentioning the stitches. I calmly explained her that I had stopped the cut from bleeding. She looked up at me with moist eyes. I believe she tried to apologize, but the words never got out from her mouth. I pulled her closer, feeling how she started to stroke my growing erection.  
She asked, if I could open the stitches. I refused. She looked at me like a child, who had gone through her first disappointment.  
I cupped her cheek, giving her the moment she needed. She asked if I could lie down, so she could touch me. I agreed to this request, leading her to the couch.  
I lied down. She sat down on top of me, rolling her hips against mine. I would have liked to put my hands on her hips, but I didn’t.  
I believed it was still too early for that. She leaned in to kiss me and I answered with equal fervor. Her lips were soft against mine.  
She moved her lips down my neck, stripping me of my shirt. She kissed my scar, asking if I was in pain. I was, so I nodded.  
It was needless to tell her that I was in pain because I wanted her, but couldn’t have her. Not until she would be ready.

I squirmed under her touch, getting closer to my release. She ran her hands up and down my abdomen, sometimes stopping to fondle the soft spot she had found. The one she had left her mark on. I didn’t mind; in truth I had found her actions fascinating.  
She moved away and I made a sound of protest. I was still hard and there was sweat on my brow. She looked guilty, telling me she would be gone for two weeks. She cancelled her sessions for the time being.  
I pleasured myself later in the shower. I had not expected it, but I felt frustrated; angry even. I had not seen it possible, that she would leave for such a long time. When she came back, I was the one who cancelled her session. I was curious to know what she would do.

 

It might have been unorthodox, but she was the most interesting patient I had had for a while. She was perhaps even more interesting, than Will Graham.

  
Yes. The pleasure she gave me was one of the things that made me interested in her. I looked forward to it.

 

She came to me at very late hour, but I was awake. I had waited for her. It had rained outside and her hair was soaking wet. The polite thing was to ask her come in, so I did. I guided her to upstairs and offered her a towel. I sat on the bed to watch her. It wasn’t too forward, but it was a gentle hint, which she took.  
She approached me, pressing her cool lips against mine. I answered to the kiss, slowly starting to undress her. She didn’t object and I was able to feel her fingers to work with the buttons of my shirt.

We became one that night, she being on the top. She rocked her hips softly, running her hands over my body. The way she touched me made me crazed by lust. Somehow, she was able to make me feel things that I had never felt before. I guess it could be said that she reintroduced me to myself.  
I came with a silent gasp, trying not to collapse on her. It would have been most impolite, especially after what she had done to me, with me, after breaking her boundaries again.

I convinced her to spent the night. I was glad that she did; it meant I had gotten closer to her. Perhaps I had even achieved a new level of trust with her.  
It must have been so, since I once again became to surprise myself.

I lay silent in the bed, still exhausted for our earlier display of affection. She lay beside me, drawing pictures on my belly with her finger. She told me, she knew who I was . . . what, I was. I grabbed her wrist on instant, preparing to kill her. She flinched, moving down to fondle my soft spot, giving me a thrill of pleasure and discomfort at the same time. She whispered that she didn’t mind what I was; that she understood and accepted. I accepted as well, and chose to trust her, freeing her wrist from my grasp.  
She smiled a little, which was a gesture I saw her to do for the first time. She asked if I could make a new cut for her, next to the old one.  
I refused, but I must admit that I was tempted. I arched my back in pleasure, letting out a small growl deep down from my throat, as she added more pressure to her fondles. Occasionally her hand lingered on my soft spot, giving me most delicious feelings: Enough so to make me squirm and gasp in pleasure.  
I trusted her, oddly enough, and allowed myself to forget everything but the pleasure, for a moment.

 

I know there’s still much work to be done with her. She needs to become more adaptive; to understand there will be no new cuts, but I shall continue to feed her, only in different ways. It can be said that, we both are experimenting and I must admit that I am pleased, about the turn her evolvement has taken.

I am glad to have all of this out of my system. The feeling is most relaxing, now that I’ve shared this all, but then again I must apologies.  
I have shared too much and I am sure, you know how this will end in your behalf. . .

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. ;)


End file.
